


Performance

by Slythgeek



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Exhibitionism, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Transvestic fetishism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1545689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slythgeek/pseuds/Slythgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master goes to the bar where the Doctor is moonlighting as a drag king.</p><p>Another story in the Lesbian AU, shameless smut</p>
            </blockquote>





	Performance

**Author's Note:**

> In the Lesbian AU, some of the male characters are female-bodied, including the Doctor and the Master.

She slipped past the bouncer, brushed her hands across the hips of the butch checking IDs, and flashed her best bedroom eyes at the bartender.

                  “I’ll have your chocolate martini with extra sugar, cutie,” the Master said, leaning one arm on the table so that the front of her top fell low enough to display her lacey bra.  “Got any strawberries?”

                  The bartender’s pupils dilated far too wide for the disco ball-lit room as she nodded to the Master and said in a husky voice, “I’ve got all the strawberries you want.”

                  “Good,” the Master cooed, pursing her lips in a victorious smile. “I’ll take three, sliced, on the edge of the glass.  There’s a good girl.”

                  She left no tip, but the bartender smiled as the Master sashayed to an empty table and positioned herself against it like a courtesan waiting for her emperor.

 

                  Backstage, the Doctor doused her face in setting powder.  She looked fine indeed, with her breasts neatly hidden and fake shadows squaring her jaw.  If she ever happened to regenerate into a male body, well, she wouldn’t mind this body.  The Doctor tugged lightly at her sideburns to make sure they were still attached and glanced down the counter at her fellow performers.  Even though this was her third day performing, a growing disquiet had haunted her all night.  Earlier, as she’d finished work on the TARDIS for the day and set off for the club, a slight worry had her scrutinizing everyone she passed. By this point, though, a full-blown fear had taken shape – the shape of a woman.  The Master.

                  She became more certain of the Master’s presence as she took her place behind the curtain and waited for her music to begin.  The TARDIS hadn’t shaken nearly so much today when the Doctor tried taking off.  At this rate, she’d be gone before tomorrow’s performance.  She might almost miss it.  The Doctor had never really performed before. Sure, she’d given some impassioned speeches, and Jo had once gotten her on stage for the UNIT annual panto, but lip-synching for dollar bills, stomping and dancing and being more male than male – that was different.

 

                  The first act was a bore, the Master thought.  Another rock song about sex.  Another human girl with an eyeliner moustache.  She pointedly ignored the disgusting thing as it crooned the chorus into her ear.  She sighed when the rest of the room applauded.  The Master would never understand what everyone saw in humans.

                  “Now, our newest performer taking the stage again for his third night,” the announcer said, casting an eye over the audience.  “Ah, yes.”  She swept down onto a t-shirt-clad woman with a black Caesar cut.  “I saw you giving him twenty quid last night.”

                  The t-shirt woman grinned and held up another note.  The Master glared.  Twenty-five this time.  She had a few singles in her pocket, but why should she waste them on the Doctor? No, she’d spare one, but the rest… well, she had other, far more interesting plans.

                  “You’ve got the fever.  He’s got the cure.  Give the clap to Who’s Yer Doctor!”

                  _Really,_ the Master sighed. _Ego the size of a solar system._

                  “Calling Dr. Love” pounded from a stack of knockoff Bose, and the Doctor galloped out from between the curtains, a bouncy ball with sideburns and a tailored suit.  She evaded the Master’s side of the room as she threw herself at every other girl who was even half paying attention.  She took t-shirt woman’s money between her teeth, and the Master imagined her tongue between them instead.  That was _her_ Doctor.

                  The Master pounced on the Doctor from behind faster than anyone but a Time Lord could react.  The Doctor merely froze but kept moving her lips with the music.  Great Gallifrey, the Master wanted to kiss them! More than that, she wanted them drawing a trail down her trembling body.  The Master folded the note in half and tucked it roughly down the Doctor’s trousers, careful to feel what she’d used to stuff them.

                  “Nice socks,” she whispered, feigning a bite at the Doctor’s ear as she returned to her post at the table.  Another woman had joined her, round-faced and starry-eyed.  She nudged herself closer and closer to the Master until the music stopped.

                  “Like your shirt,” the woman said.  She twisted one of the Master’s loose strings around her finger.

                  “No.” The Master pushed against the table, knocking over both their drinks, and prowled across the room. The bouncer for the backstage area hardly had time to open his mouth before he was under the Master’s control.

 

                  The Doctor breathed a long sigh as she ducked behind the curtain. She hardly heard the applause. Something pointed hit her in the back so hard she thought she’d been stabbed.

                  “Not so quick on the reflexes, is she?” the Master muttered. “Walk.”

                  “How are you alive?” the Doctor asked.

                  “Walk.”

                  The point moved up her spine, still pressed hard enough to hurt. She inched her way down the dim hallway.  A plan would form, certainly.  She’d had hours to think about the Master, and some of that time hadn’t been spent daydreaming.

                  “Thank you for the money.  You know, I could buy a – “

                  “Faster.”

                  She turned the corner down the back hallway to the emergency exit and promptly felt leather on her throat.  The Master’s gloved fingers crunched together as she tightened her grip and shoved the Doctor against the cinderblock wall.

                  “You’re going to ruin my makeup,” the Doctor said out of the side of her mouth that wasn’t flat to the cinderblocks.

                  “Good.” The Master’s grip moved to her arm and nearly tore it from its socket as she twisted the Doctor to face her. “Quite a disguise you’ve got there. Nearly fooled me. It’s about time you took some of it off.  Start with the jacket.”

                  From the Master’s hand dangled a laser screwdriver that looked as though it had been destroyed and repaired several times.  The Master smirked, half-opened eyes adorned in feathery false lashes.  The Doctor removed her jacket carefully, using her concentration to corral her inner frenzy. There was no telling what devastation the Master had planned for Earth, but tonight was the Doctor’s, one encounter to ease the coming horror.  No matter the shame that devoured the Doctor’s thoughts later, she enjoyed these moments – the dread, the recombining of two minds that should never have merged, the sensations and the Master’s power over them.

 

                  The Master stowed the laser screwdriver in a pocket.  The Doctor belonged to her now, if only for a while. She gripped the back of the Doctor’s neck in both hands and pulled her within an inch of a kiss. She drew one hand to the Doctor’s face, walking her bruising fingers over her cheeks and across her lips, which had parted in expectation.

 

                  One finger pushed into the Doctor’s mouth followed by another. The leather tasted sour like the skin of a wine grape, and she worked her tongue between the fingers. The Master forced her head back, lowering the Doctor to her level.  The Doctor heard the snap of leather and a small grunt as the Master removed the other glove.  That hand un-tucked the Doctor’s shirt hastily and ran up the thin layer of binding beneath.  Even through the material, her touch arced through the Doctor’s body, and the Doctor cried out, the sound strangled by the Master’s hand in her mouth. The Doctor felt the Master’s hand grip one flattened breast and her mouth close around the nipple, soaking through her shirt.

The fingers tore away from her mouth.  She tried to bite down, to keep the Master inside her, but the fingers disappeared. The Master ripped away one sideburn and then the other, taking a clump of hair and layer of skin with them. She shoved both hands, one gloved, one bare, into the Doctor’s trousers.  She knew where to find the wad of sock and thrust it into the Doctor.

“Ah,” escaped in a sob from the Doctor’s freed lips.

“That’s what happens when you pretend to be something you aren’t, Doctor,” the Master whispered, breathing on the Doctor’s closed eyes. 

“I’ll expose you.” The Master pulled the knotted socks apart and drew one hand up to press down on the Doctor’s shoulder. “For what you are.” She slipped first one sock and then the other from the Doctor’s trousers; the Doctor’s knees buckled. “Fraud.”  She whispered the last word into the Doctor’s ear and dropped with her, fingers and mind finding her unguarded. The Master shoved a finger into her, and they felt it as one.  The music pounded.  Their hearts pounded.  Four rhythms synced into two, and they moved to it, lips on lips, chests rising with shared breaths, and the Master inside her Doctor.  The Master pulled away when the Doctor’s breaths became tear-filled gasps.

“No,” the Doctor said, as the Master seemed to tear some of her mind away.

“Really, Doctor,” the Master said, standing, “did you think I wasn’t going to ask for anything in return?”

The audience cheered down the hall.

“Listen to that.” The Master turned the Doctor’s chin upward to her now unzipped trousers.  “They want you to put on a show.”

She shoved the leather down, taking lacy panties with it.  “Too bad they already got theirs.”

The green glow of the EXIT sign glistened on the Master’s skin.  More gently than before, the Master raised the Doctor’s face.

“I don’t know why you waste your energy on them when you’ve got me.”

“I didn’t know I had – “

 

She wrenched the Doctor into her and felt the Doctor’s tongue immediately arch between her thighs. The Doctor pushed further in. She knew this body, and she knew the Master.  The Master could feel her submission, the Doctor forming a mental and physical bridge between the cold floor beneath her knees and the warm lips and tongue winding into the Master.  The Doctor pulled the Master’s legs open further and painted her with a firm stroke of tongue. She kissed her outer labia and then the inner, taking the loose flesh between her lips and holding it until the flavor overwhelmed her.

Jerkily, almost clumsily, the Master moved the Doctor’s head by a tangle of brown hair. She gripped hard now, using the Doctor to keep her balance.  The Doctor edged her kisses out to the Master’s thighs and gradually brought her tongue out to trace across every part of the Master that swelled for her. She licked lightly around her clit and pressed her bottom lip hard against it.

“Theta...,” she heard the Master whisper.  She swore not to bring that up later.

The audience cheered again, and yes, yes, they must be cheering for them.  If someone walked into the hallway now, they’d leave the Doctor a bloody tip.  The hands in her hair threatened to tear it from the scalp, but the pain only brought the two of them closer.  They’d suffered so much pain that a little more was almost a relief.

The Master kicked the Doctor back with a throaty laugh.

“Oh, bravo, Doctor. Or shall I say, ‘Brava!’”

“You’d sound a bit of a dolt if you did,” the Doctor croaked.

“Nine out of ten. Good finish but lacking energy.” The Master zipped her trousers and made no move to help the Doctor up.  “Next time, how about you skip the audience and save the whole thing for me, eh?”


End file.
